Everyone has a story
by Cybertronprincess
Summary: For once, Ellis didn't want to talk about him and Keith. Rochelle didn't dare prod for gossip and article material. Coach kept his mouth shut, rather than try to get me to talk about my problems. My own Nick background; rated M for horrible imagery.


**Rated M for disturbing and horrible imagery. **

We all have our stories. People like Ellis can't stop yapping about theirs, people like Rochelle won't stop until they know everything about someone else's, and people like the Coach try to influence you to "improve" yours. People like me... I don't give a damn about other people's story, and they better not give a damn about mine. If they do, they'll be sorely disappointed.

But fighting zombies... it just makes you think. Every goddamn thing that's running at you with the intention of beating your skull in had a story before this plague started spreading, and all it takes is a bullet or two, or a fully fuelled chainsaw to bring that story to an end.

One time, we were scavenging around in an infected infested town, searching for food. We suddenly heard Rochelle yell out, and when we found her, she was crouched next to a little girl, no older than eight or nine. She was cute, those little pigtails drooping off her head. She was sobbing her eyes out, saying her daddy had eaten her mommy and her dog, Dizzy. Coach gave her a check over, then reeled back when he saw the festering bite wound on her left shoulder. Her dad had turned into a Hunter, and was probably still hopping around somewhere, but before she'd gotten away, he'd managed to bite her.

Ellis and Rochelle refused to leave her side until she turned, so they sat there for the rest of the day; Rochelle cleaning her wound and doing her hair with my pocket-comb, and Ellis making her laugh for the first time in what must've been weeks. Coach and I left them to it, found food, and came back. I'd gone and found an old candy store and raided it for lolly pops and liquorish drops; what more could a kid want for a last meal?

But when we came back... Rochelle was sobbing, Ellis hugging and rocking her back and forth, almost crying himself. The little girl had turned while we were gone. She hadn't bitten either of them, Ro' had managed to shoot her in the head before that could happen. We buried her in a nearby park, beneath a big oak tree, which Ellis turned into her "head stone".

Emily. Her name was Emily.

We tried not to bring up Emily again, but every once in a while, Rochelle would just burst into tears over her. I tried helping, in my own way... told her to toughen up; because she was going to see dead kids wherever she bloody went on the planet. Apparently, bluntness is not appreciated by women crying their eyes out. She screamed at me to fuck off, slapped me a few times, then clung to Coach so Overalls could yell instead.

"Y' got no idea whut Ro' is feelin' rait nayow Nick! Y' don't got a fuckin' clue whut it's laik t' keel a kid!" He shouted. Ellis was a fairly easy going kid, never really lost his temper, but was as thick as a Tank was muscular.

"Yes," I retorted. "Yes, I do."

Janet and I didn't really see eye to eye the whole time, but she was the closest thing to a love I ever had. Less thick than Sophie, more bitchy than Katie. My kind of woman. And when Josh was finally born, 21st of December, 2012...

I'm a cold hearted guy, I admit; Janet always said I was a bitch more than a man, but not without reason, and she knew it. What with my bum of a dad, my whore of a mom, my bastard brother and everything in between then and now... how could anyone expect any less of me? I learnt to only look out for number 1.

Me.

Janet understood that, but also knew that didn't mean I didn't have a few soft spots, like I did for her and Josh. But when I walked out of that house, my infected wife's blood on my suit, carrying my baby's corpse...

"Y'... yew whut?" I'm forever picking him up, constantly saving his inbred ass from danger. Why? Because he's a nice kid, despite the beer guzzling nature. And I guess... I wish Josh could've grown up to be something like Ellis; a cheerful kid, more friendly than I'll ever be, and... smarter than he looks. I wish I could've had the chance to call my son "champ" or "little man", but I never did. So I made do with Ellis.

I folded my arms, fixing him with the scowl I'd practised for months, so I'd have something to look at Josh with whenever he misbehaved. "You heard me ace; I _do _know what it's like to kill a kid."

When I ran into Josh's room, the one with the badly painted rockets on the wall, and looked into that crib to see if my rosy cheeked baby boy was alright, and all I saw was a foaming at the mouth, shark toothed, blood thirsty... _thing..._

When I pointed that Magnum to my son's head as he tried to rip off my hand...

My stomach began to churn as they stared at me, forcing my knees to stay strong and ignoring the stinging in my eyes as best I could.

For once, Ellis didn't want to talk about him and Keith. Rochelle didn't dare prod for gossip and article material. Coach kept his mouth shut, rather than try to get me to talk about my problems.

They got the hint, and I hadn't even explained my story to them.


End file.
